


in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry Tolkien, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, M/M, Robb Stark is a Gift, The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings Fusion, Underage - Freeform, in which westeros is middle earth and throbb are faramir/eowyn GUYS BEAR WITH ME OKAY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Oh, so you’d have me leave with you and bring me to your homeland? And would you have your people see you with me and say,there goes the lord who could have had a woman from his islands and instead tamed some wild swordsman of the North?”Or: in which, while the Great Other's One Ring is being destroyed in the Grey Waste, a young northern lord and the steward of King's Landing meet as they try to heal.Or, alternatively: the LOTR fusion you really didn't know you wanted.





	in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure

**Author's Note:**

> So, before you wonder what the hell I was smoking when I was writing this: it all started because at some point I argued with someone on westeros.org who said that Theon's arc was a direct replica of Gollum's in LOTR (I KNOW RIGHT MAKES NO SENSE) to justify her fairly senseless hatred of Theon in the first place and at some point I went at her like 'man please Theon has more things in common with Faramir of all people if you look at what happens in the storyline'. Then I wrote some meta about it on tumblr that resurfaced lately and someone went like 'now I want throbb fic where theon's faramir and robb's eowyn'.
> 
> I thought 'WELL MY ASOIAF OTP AND MY LOTR OTP IN ONE? AMAZING'. Then this thing happened. I honestly don't know what the hell I'm doing and I have a feeling my attempts to sound even vaguely Tolkien-ish while writing won't be that great, but here you go, have 7k of the LOTR au of doom you never knew you needed.
> 
>  **WARNINGS** : this obviously goes after the book version ~~since the movies about cut 50% of it and stuck the rest in the extended edition WHY~~ so same as Eowyn in the original Robb is fairly suicidal/having a bad case of survivor's guilt in the beginning. Mind it if it's anything that might upset you. There's mentions of battle-related violence and so on and there's VERY VERY LIGHTLY IMPLIED PAST THRAMSAY but like it's all really tame. Also past character death, but given that Theon's _Faramir_ you probably guessed where this was going. Sorry guys. I had to be philological. Also this is tagged underage because we're going with canon ages as in Theon's nineteen and Robb's fifteen but like, they're both perfectly consenting xD
> 
> That said: the title is taken from LOTR, nothing belongs to me except the recasting (and some of that doesn't belong to me neither I mean guys Sam Tarly is written to be the Sam Gamgee of asoiaf it's not ME) and like, idek. I shall now go back to finish the long af stuff I have in the works *waves and saunters back downwards*.

Doubt and great dread hang over the city of King’s Landing as Robb Stark stares at the dark sky above him, at the shores of Essos and Pentos in front of the city, and at the spark of orange in the far, far distance.

One would think that you couldn’t see _anything_ happening in the Grey Waste from _here_ , for as far as Robb knows the Grey Waste is _really damn far_ from Westeros’s capital, and yet –

And yet he can, which means that unless the two Night’s Watch recruits tasked with destroying that blasted ring accomplish their mission and throw it into the fire it was forged in, they’re all dead.

He looks down at his bandaged and unmoving right arm, all covered in white linen that makes his eyes _hurt_ just staring at it, same as his clothes, same as the sight in front of him, and wonders, _did it hurt as much when I slew the Night’s King?_

He doesn’t even fucking remember. He only remembers that dark, horrid thing shrieking, _no man shall kill me_ , and thinking, _no one back home thought me a man and maybe I’m not and I really was too young for this but there’s no going back now_ as he struck it first and then the second time, and bless Grenn for having distracted the thing or he couldn’t have landed the death blow, and –

No. He didn’t leave the Vale for _this_ , he didn’t watch his mother die for nothing, he didn’t come here when she had forbidden him to and good thing he did, and patience if he also dies, Sansa can handle things back home. And he’s being useless, _completely bloody useless_ , if he sits here and does _nothing_ , and –

He stands up from his bed and leaves his room facing the sea and Westeros’s impending doom, and kicks the door shut behind him, heading to find the maester and beg him to just let him out and go to find his death in battle along with what part of the army will join King Stannis’s forces tomorrow.

He finds Maester Luwin – the main healer – not long later. He’s finishing tending to a soldier’s wound, but he’s with Robb not long after he’s done.

“How may I help you, my young lord?” He asks, kindly, and Robb wants to scream at _young lord_ , as if he hasn’t proved over and over he’s no mere boy anymore, but doesn’t.

“I cannot take this anymore,” he says. “I feel useless. I can’t sit here waiting for my death like some kind of weakling. I need you to release me.”

Luwin does _not_ look too impressed at his request. “You are still healing. Your arm is weak. You slew a _nazgul_ , the Night’s King out of all of them, and that is no mere feat, but I doubt you can be of any use in battle if you aren’t healed yet.”

“I’m healed in body, and as for the arm – I’m not searching for life. We’re dying. We’re _all_ dying. I want an honorable death like my mother’s, not to waste here.”

“I am afraid that _I_ cannot grant your request,” Maester Luwin says. “After all, the King himself recommended your well-being to me, specifically. Yours, and the one of the young Black Brother who helped you. I couldn’t release you in good conscience.”

“Fine, then I shall ask someone who might. Who commands in this city?”

Luwin seems to consider it, then he shrugs minutely. “Well, King Stannis is of course not here, and there are a few commanders here and there, but the rightful steward of the city is Lord Theon Greyjoy, given his father’s demise and his sister’s.”

“Fine. Where do I find _Lord Greyjoy_?”

“Not far, since he’s in this same place. He also was grievely wounded, and almost died, but he’s on the mend. But –”

“Then bring me to him.”

Luwin stares at Robb for a long moment. “As you wish,” he says, and Robb follows him to the gardens.

\--

The Red Keep has lovely gardens, Robb can’t help noticing as he trails behind Luwin. He’s not surprised they chose to turn the royal castle into a sick house for the wounded, nor that Stannis agreed with that decision. He thinks, _people could heal in here_.

But not him.

Luwin brings him forward, until they reach a small clearing where someone is sitting on a stone slab.

“My lord?” Luwin asks.

“Fuck if I’ll ever get adjusted to _that_ ,” the other man replies, and then stands up and turns towards them. “Yes?”

The first thing Robb thinks is, _the steward is young_. He’s older than Robb’s five and ten years, but it cannot be by much. He would be surprised if he was twenty. He has long raven hair with a lone white streak on the side, deep dark eyes, a beautiful pale face – all regular traits and delicate nose – and he has pale hands with long, slender fingers. He’s dressed in the white garb reserved for the sick – all the sick – and he looks _tired_. Tired in a way Robb can only remember his mother looking in the worst part of the last couple of years.

“This,” Luwin says, “is Lord Stark of the Eyrie.”

“Oh,” Theon Greyjoy replies, “the one who managed to save us all from _immediate_ certain doom?”

Robb can’t help it – he _knows_ he’s blushing as he clears his throat. “Yes,” he says. “My lord. I have a request of you, if you’d be so kind.”

“Well, do ask. I will see if it’s within my powers to make it happen.”

“I want to leave this place. I seek death in battle and not wasting away while I wait for the Great Other to turn the world into ice.”

“I _absolutely_ do not agree with this notion,” Luwin adds, the traitor – though, to be truthful, he never sided with Robb in the first place.

Theon Greyjoy takes a very good look at him, and Robb almost feels dwarfed under that stare. He doesn’t know why his resolve suddenly seems a lot weaker, but – somehow his line doesn’t sound as convincing to his ears as it did a while ago.

“My lord,” Theon Greyjoy finally says, “I am afraid I know nothing of medicine and healing, but I know a _lot_ of young men who look for their death because they see no other option, and I’m also afraid _I_ am under Luwin’s orders until he sees fit to release me. Also, I haven’t taken up authority in this blasted city yet, so technically I can’t order anyone around, and – I also know something of not listening to the counsel of people wiser than me, and as I’d rather not make the same mistakes all over again, I _would_ probably ask Luwin advice in this matter. So I cannot, in good faith, let you go to your absolutely unnecessary death. Luwin, I think you can go, if Lord Stark wishes to discuss this further.”

Luwin _does_ leave, and Robb just feels – ashamed, maybe? It took Theon Greyjoy maybe ten seconds to assess the situation. Is he _that_ pathetic?

“I don’t want to heal,” he protests weakly. “I’m as healed as I will ever get. Is death in battle something _that_ strange to desire?”

The way Greyjoy looks at him makes Robb feel almost uneasy. There’s understanding there, and – almost _pity_?

“My Lord, I don’t think you could ever reach the king on time. And from what I see, if we have to die in battle we will anyway. Might as well not make it quicker than it needs be.”

Robb doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this humiliated in his life. Not even fucking Littlefinger made him feel like _this_ in his entire existence, and he’s glad Theon says nothing when he reaches upwards and wipes at his eyes, because he knows he’s crying. And then –

“I can’t look outside anymore,” he blurts.

“Sorry?”

“My room. There’s a window looking towards Pentos. If the sky isn’t black it’s orange, and I can’t look at that anymore. It’s – I can’t.” Has his voice ever sounded this small? He can’t remember having felt this tired and weary and _done_ in years.

He looks up.

Greyjoy _smirks_ , and it actually – looks nice on him? Somehow. Robb doesn’t know exactly how it is that he’s thinking _that_ , but – it does.

“I think asking Luwin to move you to a better room is within my power.” He’s still smirking as he says it. “That said, you’re welcome to walk in the garden. Staying holed up somewhere won’t do your health any good.”

“Walk… in the garden?”

“I do that every other day. It’s better than I’d have imagined. That said, _almost_ dying did change my mind a lot, when it comes to what I think of whether it’s worth it to long for death. Hells, I was about to take a walk now. Would you care to join me?”

Robb feels entirely too dumbfounded to reply anything other than, “I’d be glad to, my lord.”

“ _Well_ , if you will join me, then it’s probably a better idea to do away with formalities. I’d rather be Theon to you, if it please you.”

Robb doesn’t know the last time he’s been on a first name basis with anyone that wasn’t family, but – it’s not a _bad_ feeling. “Fine. Then I shall be Robb to you, if it _please_ you.”

“That definitely would. Well then, follow me.”

Robb takes in a deep breath and does.

\--

“May – may I ask what you meant before?” Robb asks a while later, after neither of them has said a thing for enough time that he’s starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Of course. With what?”

“When you said… almost dying did change a lot when it comes to your views on death.”

“Oh, _that_. Well, do you know anything of my father? Or my sister?”

“I know that he was elected steward of Westeros and left the Iron Island for King’s Landing because after the Mad King fell prey to the One Ring he was the only one in the country who was well-versed enough in leading a war. That’s all I know, though.”

Theon sighs. “It’s true that he was well-versed in leading wars. It’s probably the one thing he excelled at. See, I was his last son, but my older brothers died in one of the earliest battles against the Great Other. My father had never really paid much attention to me until then, since I wasn’t… what you would call, the most excited person when it came to fighting wars. Or _being a proper Ironborn_. I mean, I liked bows better than swords and I still do, and I spent more time with my mother than my sister did, which made me _more of a woman_ than she was. Whatever, I didn’t really feel that until my brothers died and my mother did, too. My sister was already well-schooled in fighting wars and I wasn’t, but since I had to keep up with her I also schooled myself quickly enough.” He sighs, looking wistfully at the Red Keep at their left. “See, the thing is that our father _did_ try to pit us against each other and openly preferred her, but _we_ didn’t particularly mind. Fine, at times I was horribly jealous and back then I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around, but eventually it didn’t matter.”

“One wouldn’t say, looking at you,” Robb blurts out, and _where did that came from_?

“Flattered, Stark. But let’s just say that when I was just a bit older than you I did a lot of stupid things. Among which was letting some idiot northerner who came down to _fight with us_ but was only there to kill people because he was _that_ insane convince me to try and take back Storm’s End from the wights on my own to impress my father.”

“That… didn’t go well, I gather?”

“It went so well that if he needed one reason to send Asha to Riverrun instead of me, he had it. Not that he’d have sent me in the first place, I _couldn’t be trusted with men’s work_. He did come to rue that later, though.”

Asha Greyjoy –

Oh. _Asha Greyjoy_. King Stannis, Lord Martell and Lord Tyrion _did_ tell him of her heroic death and how she avenged her own honor after almost falling prey to the Ring’s power.

“He – he wished he had sent you instead?”

“He _did_ tell me that, yes. That is, after telling me that _she_ would have never let Snow leave with the darned Ring.”

“Wait, you _met_ him?”

“Robb, there is a reason why I think we do have a chance in the seven hells of not dying at all. I did meet that brooding little arsehole, and I met his friend who was trailing with him, and I have a feeling they’d die before _not_ destroying the damned thing. And I’m really glad I didn’t even consider bringing it here.”

At this point, Robb is intrigued. _Very much_. Because –

“You… you didn’t at all? I’m told it’s very hard to resist it.”

“I’m sure it is. I didn’t even want to look at it. For a few reasons. First of all, before running into Jon Snow and his trusted steward Sam Tarly, we _did_ catch… the son of the Mad King.”

“Viserys Targaryen? The one who –”

“Who kept that ring hidden after his father lost it and died for it and turned mad for it, and who turned fucking raving madder because of it. If you had seen him – hells. A shadow of a man, all bent over, you could see his fucking bones, that Targaryen hair all dull, muttering all over that he’d have his _precious_ back along with his crown and his Iron Throne and so on. The moment I saw him I thought _whatever turns you into_ that _is nothing I want to even lay my eyes upon_. Never mind that… it’s not important.”

From the tone of voice, Robb thinks he was about to say something indeed very important, but he doesn’t press on.

“Anyway, the second reason was that I saw those two. They were _desperate_ to go to the Grey Waste and play out their role. And I saw Snow’s face. I mean, of course he’s fucking brooding all over, with that – with _that_ ring on him. I thought, _could I handle that_ , and I like to think I was honest enough with myself to say that no, I fucking couldn’t. I mean, I didn’t feel too proud of that, but in hindsight? If I had done that, we’d be all dead already.”

Robb would like to tell him that it doesn’t seem something to _not_ be proud of, but keeps his mouth shut.

“Anyway, I came back, my father was absolutely _not_ impressed and ordered me to take back Harrenhaal of all places, and it’s been lost to the wights for _months_ if not longer. I tried, and the Night’s King you so gloriously slaughtered got me in the side before being called back to Essos. At that point my father was convinced the only way for this to end with dignity was to burn me before I died and came back a wight or worse, and I probably wouldn’t have lived if the captain of the guards hadn’t physically stopped him. Eventful month, don’t you agree?”

Robb thinks he wants to vomit – he’s fairly sure that not even at her worst would her mother have done such a thing to _either_ of her children.

“That seems an understatement.”

“Most probably. Anyhow, I lived. And believe me, right now the prospect of dying doesn’t seem as sweet as it might seem to you.”

“I have my reasons,” Robb says, even if it sounds like a weak defense. “And – may I ask how old are you?”

Theon smiles again, not unkindly. “Nineteen,” he says, sounding a lot wearier than his age suggests. “It might seem like nothing to you, but four years do change a person.”

Robb says nothing, because he honestly can’t think of anything to add to this conversation that isn’t, _then why I thought I was a man grown at five and ten_ , and he doesn’t know if it’s what he wants to voice.

They walk some more. It’s nicer than Robb had thought _walking in a garden_ would be. But what would he know? There are no gardens in the Eyrie, or in the castles they’ve lived in, anyhow. Not when it’s been winter there for a long, long time.

When he comes back into the castle, later, he’s escorted to a room on the lower left wing with a window looking on the gardens and not on the bay.

He swears to himself he will tell no one that he burst out crying at the sight.

\--

“Master, do you think you could tell me _something_ about our guest Lord Stark?”

The way Luwin looks back at Theon the moment he hears the question, it’s obvious he knows Theon isn’t asking out of mere curiosity. “I might,” he says, “but you’re better off asking the Black Brother who rode with him from the Vale. What I know, is that no one his age should have seen what he has seen, and that the darkness is still looming over him, but it’s not the kind of darkness I can heal.”

_Fair enough_ , Theon thinks. He will talk to the Black Brother – his name was Grenn or so said his friend who was (sadly) there to witness the last encounter Theon had with his father. He wonders how Pyp’s faring with Stannis’s army – he was a nice kid, Theon remembers, and surely chattier than Jon Snow had been.

Not that he can blame Snow for not having really been the most outgoing person.

He goes to find Grenn, who is only too happy to _talk_ to someone apparently, and even happier to hear that his friend had pulled off a few heroic deeds while in King’s Landing.

“I mean,” he tells Theon, “I don’t think they’d commute our sentence for that, but –”

“What exactly were you two at the Wall for?” Theon asks.

Grenn shrugs. “Pyp stole some bread for his sister who hadn’t eaten for days, I punched a man without knowing he was a lord’s son.”

“I think,” Theon says, “that it’d be the least Westeros owe you to commute your sentence, especially if you had to serve it for crimes _that_ bloody petty. If we live, of course.”

“That goes unsaid.”

“I was wondering,” Theon says. “I had a talk with Robb Stark before. He seemed… quite _desperate_ to die. I was wondering if you might know why? Since you’ve ridden with him and all.”

“Oh, _well_ , m’lord, I don’t know if it’s my place to say.”

“As steward of the city, I say it’s your place.”

Grenn doesn’t seem too convinced, but eventually shrugs and speaks. “The Vale’s – a weird place. I don’t know much of why his family’s there rather than in the North, I mean, Starks always were in Winterfell but haven’t been for years, but they’re all… very sheltered. And he obviously wanted to be out of there and help the cause, but his mother was not of that opinion. Which is why he snuck out without anyone knowing. I recognized him and he begged me to not say, which I didn’t, ‘cause I always figured everyone picks their battles and he’s not that much younger than most of us were when we took our vows. Jon’s the same age, anyhow, and he’s bringing that ring to destruction, so I figured there was no reason to rat him out.”

“I see.”

“His mother was a good fighter,” Grenn says, “though she probably shouldn’t have gone into the field. Still, she wanted to come because she says she had to undo some kinda shame I haven’t quite understood. Lord Stark wouldn’t say and I didn’t think it was my place to ask. Guess she got caught in the midst. He was trying to save her, when he killed the Night’s King. Lord Stark, I mean.”

Theon wonders, _would I have done the same for mine own mother_? All things considered, he knows he would have.

“Dunno why he’d _still_ want to die now. Maybe he thinks he failed her. Maybe that darkness I felt for a moment did touch him more. Honest, you should ask the wizard. He’d know more.”

Possibly, but Jeor the White, formerly the Grey, is not here. He’s with Stannis in Pentos, and Theon can’t ask anything of him anymore.

“I don’t think it’s feasible, but thank you for telling me.”

“M’lord –”

“Grenn, I was on a _first name_ basis with your friend. I lost every damn care I had for honorifics. You helped him kill a bloody nazgul. I think there’s no fucking need for m’lords.”

He smiles as he leaves the room, but it’s not a real one and it falls off his face the moment he’s out of Grenn’s sight.

Never mind that he _hates_ even hearing _m’lord_ , because it might have been two years ago but the six months he spent with his mind being poisoned by fucking Ramsay Bolton, the seven Hells take his soul if they even exist, and that bastard _really_ enjoyed being called like that. He still feels shame creep up his spine if he even thinks about it, and he’s honestly glad he died while putting into action _his own_ fucking plan – at least it didn’t go any further than it had already.

He feels a pang of pain thinking of how his sister had about been the only one who had lent him a shoulder _after_ and how she encouraged him to defy their father’s expectations of him and how it was eventually all fucking useless.

He wonders, _is what sends someone who’s not even six and ten to try and slay the Night’s King the same thing that made me think taking Dragonstone was a good idea?_

He thinks he will be glad if Robb Stark joins him again in the gardens.

\--

Robb _does_ join him in the gardens four days later, looking slightly ashamed of it.

“Thank you,” he says politely. “The new room is an improvement.”

“I do what I can,” Theon jokes, but it falls flat. “Will you walk with me, then?”

“I will.”

They do walk, in silence, until they reach one of the balconies looking on the bay. Theon can see Robb’s distress at the mere sight of Essos, of the black sky looming above it and above _them_ , of the orange sparks in the far distance.

Still, he doesn’t avert his eyes from there.

“Is there anything you’re looking for? Doesn’t seem to me like there’s much to look at,” Theon says.

“It’s been seven days since the army left,” Robb sighs. “And there’s no news yet. I wonder if they’re all dead. If _he_ was right. I don’t want him to –”

“… Do I know who are you talking about?”

Robb shakes his head as he keeps on looking over at the skyline. “Our father died on an expedition beyond the Wall. A long time ago. We left Winterfell for the Vale because my aunt was Lady there, and at some point she died and I don’t remember the circumstances. But – she fell from the Moon Door. It was – a door that opened on the floor of the throne room. After then… her Hand, he was some kind of old friend for both of them. Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger for about _everyone_ else. He hated being called like that.” Robb shrugs and keeps on staring ahead, and Theon thinks, _he looks older than fifteen. So much_.

“He started spewing poison into my mother’s ear. I think he was in love with her but knew she wouldn’t have anyone else after my father, so he – made up for it by ruining her life and ours. By the time the wizard, Stannis, Lord Tyrion and Lord Martell came to us for help, she was a shadow of herself. The wizard took away that shadow from her, and – turns out that little bastard was in league with _Tywin_ Lannister, who was as we all now know…”

“… In league with the Great Other,” Theon finishes for him.

“He also – I’m sure that while he was courting my mother unsuccessfully, he tried to touch my oldest sister. I caught him kissing her once and he told me that telling Mother would have been useless because she wouldn’t believe me. She didn’t,” Robb sighs, “and then when she realized she felt so _guilty_ , of course she said she’d come here in person. I – I spent _years_ feeling useless and practicing swordfighting and never using my skill. I wanted to go because I wanted to put it into practice instead of being the useless _boy_ who couldn’t even do a thing to help his sister. And now I cannot accept that she died for nothing, that _I_ did it for nothing, that – that _all_ of this is for nothing.”

He looks about to cry. Theon can imagine how he’s feeling. He’s felt like that a few times, too. He doesn’t honestly know what to do, Asha was hardly the person _anyone_ would go to for _comforting_ and she never was much of that kind with him even if she knew how to get him out of his worse moods, and doesn’t he miss her _now_ , and so he doesn’t know how his hand ends up taking Robb’s, but –

Robb grips back as he looks at the horizon.

“I _hate_ this,” he says again.

“I think we all do,” Theon replies. But he also doesn’t know why, he feels calm. For the first time in _a very fucking long while_ , but he is, and he can’t pinpoint the reasons but maybe it doesn’t matter. “And – I did brush against that death. More than once. But – I don’t think we will necessarily die.”

“How?”

“I couldn’t say. But I don’t think darkness will endure much longer. Fine, it could also swallow us and then it would be done and over, but something tells me that it won’t be the case.”

“I wish I could be such an optimist,” Robb replies, “but I shall trust you with it. It won’t cost me none, after all.”

His hand doesn’t leave Theon’s.

Theon grasps it tighter and wonders, _would I have done this three years ago_?

The answer is no. He wouldn’t have. Three years ago, he wouldn’t have considered anything that wasn’t a beautiful girl to seduce into his bed who’d make him feel more like a man than his father considered him.

Right now, it just seems so bloody stupid. Doesn’t it?

\--

Robb comes back the next day.

Theon tells him about his mother, and learns about Robb’s.

The next day, he tells Robb about Asha, and he learns about Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, and wonders regretfully how it’d have felt to have a large family whose members obviously love each other, but he doesn’t voice that.

The next, Robb tells him what he remembers of Ned Stark. Theon tells him that he sounded a better man than his own father was. Robb is halfway crying as he thanks him, Theon doesn’t comment on it.

And the next, as the earth shakes under their feet and Robb’s fingers clasp his own again, the orange in the distance explodes filling up the sky for a long moment, and then Theon sees the sun for the first time since he opened his eyes in the Red Keep after thinking he had burned into flames instead.

The darkness recedes, backwards and backwards, until there’s just a blue sky above them and the sun warming their skin, and he doesn’t know when Robb put an arm around him, but Theon holds him back, mindful of his still healing arm, his cheek resting over soft, red hair, and he thinks, _I’m glad I was right_.

\--

Not much later, Grenn rides off to Pentos to join Stannis and the army which will have to somehow find and bring home Jon Snow and Sam Tarly, if they survived their feat. Theon, who at this point is declared fully healed, has to leave and _be the darned steward of Westeros_ , which is _not_ a thing he’d have ever thought he’d do in his life and that he doesn’t know a thing about – _he_ was never raised for ruling, Rodrik and Maron and Asha did. He thinks, _Robb might have been_ , but can’t find it in himself to ask it of him when he’s still on the mend, and so he tries to figure it out on his own with the help of a few maesters and Ser Seaworth, the guard captain who’s about the one reason Theon’s still in between the living.

It takes him three days to decide that the sooner Stannis comes back the sooner he can leave this to him and either run back to the islands or claim what land would be his right, given his service to the country, and hide there for the rest of his life. The only good thing is that he only had to move to the former Hand’s Tower from the Red Keep so it didn’t take that much effort to take up his duties, but that’s about the only advantage in the entire situation.

He’s wondering why preparing things for his successor is taking so much time and effort when he’s told that even if he was summoned to Pentos, Robb did not go.

Not even when, apparently, some of his family is in fact going by sea to Pentos as well, and then they will ride back here for the crowning.

He thinks he’d like to ask him, but he’s so swamped in steward duties that he can’t even find the time, and then a week later Luwin comes to visit him.

“I think,” he says, “that you should talk to Lord Stark.”

“What for?”

“He was on the mend, and now he’s not anymore. I think he would benefit from talking to you.”

Theon wonders why Robb would benefit from talking to _him_ , but he doesn’t even think of refusing.

He thinks of how it had felt when their hands had joined, about how Robb seemed to fit seamlessly against his side, about how sad he looked until now and how unnatural it was on his face, about how he about died for his own mother and he was willing to die for his family, about how he _likes_ Robb in a way he’s never liked anyone, about how easy it felt to talk to him.

He thinks, _how would I feel if he died_?

He slams the door on his way to the Red Keep.

\--

The last thing Robb expects is for Theon to show up in the garden in his full steward garb, all silver and black and looking very fine indeed on him, but with hair completely disarrayed as if he _ran_ all the way.

It’s nice to think he might have, though.

“Theon,” he says, forcing himself to smile a little.

“Robb. Luwin is very worried for your health.”

“Well, it’s better than it used to be.”

He knows he’s lying, but these last few days he lost all appetite and the moment he was summoned to Pentos the first instinct he had was burying the letter, which he did a moment later. He doesn’t know why it feels _wrong_ to go there now, especially when his brothers and sisters will be there, but he thinks he doesn’t want them to see him like _this_ – gaunt and sad and defeated and convinced that he should have died with his mother when he could have.

Still, Theon doesn’t need to know nor should he be saddled with his problems. Too bad, because Robb would have enjoyed talking to him in the gardens every day still, but –

It’s not bound to be.

“Robb, being honest, you look like shit.”

“Why, thank you. You don’t mince words, do you?”

“No reason to do it with friends. You look worse than you did before. Never mind that for wanting to leave so much not even a month ago, you don’t seem keen to leave _now_ even with a royal summoning.”

Robb’s face turns into a grimace. “It’s complicated.”

“I don’t doubt that. However,” Theon keeps on, “I think there might be two reasons why you didn’t go.”

“Really. Two?”

“One is… fairly sad to think of, probably. The other is most likely arrogant on my part, but I’ve been told I could be fairly arrogant back in the day.”

Robb shrugs and looks up at him, blue eyes staring right into this, and Theon thinks, _it’s really a pity they seem so sad._ “I should like to hear both.”

“Very well. The sad reason is that while I do not know what you might have told your siblings before leaving, if you told them anything at all, but if it included making sure your lady mother was safe, then you haven’t quite accomplished that mission and you feel ashamed, and you don’t want to face them in case they tell you to your face that you fucked it up. Am I right?”

By the way Robb _flinches_ , it’s obvious he nailed that one.

“What if you are?”

“Then I think you might be worrying for nothing since only my bloody father would have chided a family member for _not_ coming back dead from a battle. However, the arrogant reason was that since _I_ am not going then you also are not, but I wouldn’t like to presume I actually matter that much.”

Robb looks downward, biting down on his lip, and –

He’s _not_ disagreeing, is he?

“Or maybe it’s a bit of both?” Theon asks, and why does the fact that _he might have been right_ make him feel almost elated?

“No. Yes. Maybe. _I don’t know_ ,” Robb blurts out. “I thought I wanted to die before. While I was growing up, I thought I wanted to die in battle because that would have been honorable and true to my father’s legacy. I didn’t care I was the heir, because – it was obvious. How could it matter anyhow? But when you were here – when you were here, I _didn’t_ want to die. Or – not as much. And I don’t know if I can face them on my own.” He sounds so miserable Theon thinks his own bloody father would have felt sorry for him, and the old mean bastard didn’t feel sorry very often. For anyone.

“And now – I thought everything would be over soon. And now it’s _not_ and – what do I do? Can I get back to the Vale and rule when I don’t know the first thing about ruling _in peace_ and when I would think my mother would know better anyway? Never mind that I _hate_ the Vale.”

“How so?”

“It’s not home. It’s home to the others, sort of, Bran and Rickon barely remember Winterfell and my sisters found friends and so on, but it just never felt right to me. But Winterfell – Winterfell is no more, from what I hear.”

“Since _when_?”

Robb shrugs and produces a raven from the inner part of his sleeve and hands it over.

It’s from the current Lord Commander of the Wall, Bowen Marsh – it says Tywin Lannister has retreated into the North and burned everything on his way to the Wall where they’re holding out and trying to stop him and his army, but he has those wight hybrids still and they don’t know how long they can hold on. This was sent _before_ the Ring was obviously destroyed, though, so they probably survived the siege, but still –

“I’m sorry,” Theon says sincerely.

“Thank you. So… you’re not wrong, I fear. I can’t leave because I don’t know how different I’ll be from how they remember me when they look at me in the face, and I don’t even know if I want to go back to the Vale but I _have_ to. And I can’t leave because as pathetic as it sounds, I don’t think I have… _friends_ other than you, and I know it’s pathetic, and I don’t want anyone’s pity. Least of all _yours_.”

Theon doesn’t know if he heard right when he thought Robb hesitated before saying _friends_ , but everything he can think of is that someone who slew the Great Other’s right-hand at _fifteen_ should never look this sad, not when he got to this point, not when he went all the way from the Vale to defend his land and his king, not when he sounds pained at the thought that he can’t seem to face people he grew up with all his life, and he understands what it means to feel like you don’t have a home anymore. The Iron Islands never were much of one, and he doesn’t remember them very clearly – they moved here when he was maybe six. King’s Landing surely isn’t _home_ either, though it’s been less bad than he had feared. He could tell Robb all of that, except that he kind of knows because hasn’t Theon told him already when they were both in the gardens?

He thinks of how _right_ it had felt when their hands had touched the day the darkness lifted.

“I think,” he says, “that pity isn’t really part of the picture, here.”

“It’s _not_?” Robb almost spits.

“No. Because there is nothing to be pitied when it comes to _you_ , Robb Stark. You’re younger than most people who fought this war and you slew a creature no one thought could be killed, and you did it out pure bloody stubbornness from what I see. You have suffered, same as we all, but it doesn’t make you pathetic.”

“So you say. And then I will have to go back to the Vale and be at the mercy of lords who think that since I’m younger and none the wiser, they can do with me what Baelish did to my mother, and I don’t even _want_ it.”

“Many men would want to be kings.”

“Not _me_. Gods, not me.”

“Not even when most highborn ladies in Westeros would most probably murder each other for your hand?”

“As if I’d want someone who only cares for my _hand_ and not for _me_. Highborn ladies should queue outside the Night’s Watch and beg their recruits to forsake their vows, if it wasn’t for those four we’d have never survived in the first place. And as if I even want a wife.”

“Don’t you? Now _that_ is something people would find strange.”

“I don’t know if I can go back, marry someone I don’t even know for the sake of _children_ when it’s five of us and when it would chain me to the Vale forever. Anyhow. I _don’t_ want a wife.”

He’s looking at Theon as he says it, and Theon doesn’t want to presume, but –

 _But_.

“And would you consider _being with_ someone you know, instead?”

“I do not think it’s an option,” Robb says, and looks to his side.

 _Oh_. If he’s not looking at _him_ now… could it be that

“Robb Stark, I think that what you are saying here is that there is someone you might want to _be with_ , but that someone would not give you heirs and would be a rather odd choice, even if there’s nothing written against that kind of _odd choice_. And if I’m right, well, that someone would be honored to.”

“You – please, hells, stop speaking in riddles and tell me the truth.”

“Robb, the truth is that I _also_ lack in friends and the few I had died during the war, but it’s not a question of _friendship_. I’m saying that you’re a better person than most of Westeros deserves, from what it seems to me, and that if you don’t want wives or to go back to the Vale because you’d rather be where _I_ am, I wouldn’t be the one refusing you. So, is it what you want or not?”

And then Theon thinks he can pinpoint the moment Robb’s shoulders relax, and Robb suddenly feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders as he looks up at Theon and at his dark eyes and lovely face and thinks of how he had felt _wrong_ until his hand found Theon’s right when he thought they were about to die, and he reaches out and takes Theon’s hand again.

“What if it is? I don’t know what it is that makes me want it, but it is. I don’t want to feel hopeless any longer, I don’t know if I want to think of death and battles or the Night King any longer, surely I have no desire to rule anywhere, and if I’m with you I don’t feel hopeless nor do I think of death.”

“Good thing you don’t want to rule anywhere, because I don’t think I will be a king anytime soon. I can barely manage being a bloody steward now. But the moment I can leave it to better suited people… someone will have to handle the situation in the Iron Islands. Or rebuild Winterfell. Or _both_.”

Robb’s lips curl upward in a grin that makes Theon’s knees go weak, and then he moves closer, his hands still clasping Theon’s.

“Oh, so you’d have me leave with you and bring me to your homeland? And would you have your people see you with _me_ and say, _there goes the lord who could have had a woman from his islands and instead tamed some wild swordsman of the North_?”

Theon can’t help it – he laughs at that, openly, and harder than he had in months. If this is how Robb gets when he’s not dwelling in sadness, he thinks he shall enjoy their time together a lot more than he has until now, and he _had_ done it before, indeed.

“I would,” Theon says, “and anyhow, I don’t think _I_ am doing any taming here.”

At that, Robb’s cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. “Well, I was thinking before, uh, I realized that if I really had died… I’d have died without having ever kissed a girl. Or anyone. That’s… probably sad, isn’t it?”

“Oh, so you’re a _shieldmaiden_?”

“Shut the hell up,” Robb retorts, “I _killed a nazgul_.”

“Which is why I’d hate to treat you like a _shieldmaiden_ , never mind that every single one I actually did bed never had a thing to complain about.”

“Really. So, what would you do with me?”

“A lot of things,” Theon declares, “starting with _this_.”

He doesn’t really know what to expect as he bends down slightly and puts his mouth against Robb’s, but certainly it was Robb enthusiastically surging upwards and almost knocking him off his feet – he throws his arms around Robb’s waist so that neither of them falls downwards, realizes just now that they’re on a balcony from which half of the city could watch them, decides that he can’t care less, and then kisses him with the same enthusiasm Robb’s putting into it, and thinks, _this is different_. He’s never kissed anyone like this. He’s never _been_ kissed like this, neither by a man nor by a woman, and he thinks he’s looking forward to make sure neither of them is a maiden any longer as soon as Robb deems that it’s time –

They only part when they hear someone whistling – oh, _damn_ , it’s one of his own guards who most probably wanted to see where in the seven hells he had ended up. The kid looks red as a ripe strawberry and obviously is mortified.

“Uh, m’lord, I’m awful sorry -”

“Pod, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing! We were just wondering, where did you end up, because there’s a delegation from the Free Islands at the Tower and –”

“Tell them I shall be with their lordships shortly. _Shortly_.”

“Oh. Of course. Uh, congratulations!”

Pod disappears in the trees a moment later and Theon figures the moment is ruined.

“Well, I should go discuss _diplomacy_ and the likes. As if I even know how to.”

“No one taught you?”

“My sister was supposed to be next stewardess and my brothers before her, no one did.”

“What if I told you that someone taught _me_ , even if I admittedly could have listened with more attention?”

“What if you came with me right now?”

“You still need my leave,” Luwin says, coming out of the trees, and Theon’s entirely not surprised to see he was lurking around.

“Why, I think he’s healed,” Theon says, not even bothering to keep a satisfied smirk off his face.

“I also think I’m healed,” Robb says, and now he’s smiling and he looks _radiant_. “And I think I should like to stay here until the king is back, regardless.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I think I came to _love_ this place,” Robb says very slowly.

“I think you can have my leave,” Luwin agrees, and now he’s also openly smirking, the old bastard, “and I should hope to never see you again after you leave. Neither of you. Now go entertain your ambassadors, Greyjoy, and don’t you worry, you’re doing fine enough, for having almost been burned alive not even a month ago.”

Theon is so _not_ going to dwell on that.

He’s really not.

Instead, he slips his hand into Robb’s, and again, it feels like they’re made to fit together – he can feel that Robb’s fingers are rough in the place a swordsman’s are, and Robb’s running his thumb over the parts of his own hands that archery turned rough instead, and he cannot believe a month ago things had looked so much more grim than they look now.

\--

It turns out, Robb is entirely more skilled at diplomacy than Theon is, which is why he happily leaves that to _him_ while he goes around the city to assess the damage and make sure everything is set for Stannis’s return, and they divide their tasks like this until, one day, ships appear on the other side of the bay. They’re far in the distance, and they won’t be here before a day at least, but they both know what it means.

There’s the rightful king somewhere over there, and his army, and Robb’s family, and the wizard, the two men from the Night’s Watch who helped _them_ and hopefully the two who saved them all, and Theon’s only relieved to know for sure that he can resign from an office he never even wanted to hold.

“They’re coming,” he says, as he leans out of the window.

Robb joins him a moment later, with one of the bedsheets thrown around his waist in haste.

He smiles as he looks out at the horizon.

“Good. So, when they’re here and Stannis is crowned, you shall come North with me and see how is it faring over there?”

“As long as I can parade you around the Iron Islands after. They need to know that there’s some _northern taming_ going on, here.”

“Too bad _you_ aren’t still doing it.”

Theon doesn’t even try to deny it and puts an arm around Robb’s waist instead, kissing him in the warm, pink sunrise light.

He was right. That darkness surely did not endure, and he couldn’t be happier that he was right.

End.


End file.
